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Friday, June 30

THE SCOOTERS OF ROME
Traffic in Rome moves, but it moves imperceptibly. It’s a tectonic process, really. But the gridlock isn’t solid. It presents, to the daring scooter rider, a vast and navigable sieve. As a result, Rome is the capital of scooters. Rusty vespas, high end BMW machines and whining japanese models weave between cars, busses and pedestrians without much thought for the safety of anyone.

It so happens that many scooter riders are young, professional women. They squeeze through impossible gaps with their funky sunglasses, short skirts and three inch heels; often while talking on a cell phone. I tried to keep my cool, but I found them so sexy it was difficult not to stare like an idiot at each intersection.

I fell in love hundreds of times while crossing the street…

VENICE
The city of canals is definitely worth a visit, but I can’t imagine spending more than a day or two there. While certainly unique and charming, the city has been overrun with tourists and cheesy shops. It is the bastard child of Wisconsin Dells and the Louvre.

Which, like so much else I’ve experienced here in Europe, is hard to reconcile.

THE WINES OF SAN PIETRO DI FELETTO
The hills near Padova are breathtaking. Filled with vinyards, this is where the finest in Italian sparkling wines come from. I never planned for this journey to become the wet dream of an oenophile, but I have found myself surrounded by vines on both sides of the Alps.

I visited San Pietro Di Feletto (and the various towns and villiages nearby) with Michela and her friend Martina. We dined at a tiny restaurant overlooking a breathtaking valley. The only sounds came from rustling leaves, a nearby rooster and our conversation. My last day in Europe was certainly the most beautiful.

RETURNING HOME
There is much more that I want to write. As mentioned in a previous post, my ability to string together words has been severely hampered by the intensity of the experience (and rather limited internet access). Though I will be back in Chicago on Sunday morning, my mind will still be processing my time here. I need to reflect a bit.

And some sleep would be nice too.

Wednesday, June 28

TALCO
It’s hot in Rome and I’m walking everywhere. I sweat. It’s hot, I’m walking and I’m sweating.

God help me, I’m chafing like you wouldn’t believe. Last night, I returned to Senora Lotti’s apartment bowlegged and wincing at the slightest friction. The situation was dire.

There’s only one solution to this somewhat intimate problem: talc, and lots of it. Or, to use the less masculine term, I needed some baby powder. Fortunately, pharmacies throughout Europe are identified by a bright green cross (I really wish the US would adopt some international standards). But how to find talc without speaking a word of Italian?

When in pain, one can endure significant humiliation without blinking. I found the nearest green cross and shouted “BAMBINO!” while patting my ass.

“Ah! Talco!” exclaimed the woman behind the counter. She led me to the appropriate aisle and pointed out a pink bottle with a baby, butt held aloft, printed on the front.

In the bathroom of this internet establishment I powedered myself up good. I can now stride comfortably through Rome, though I smell like baby butt. Perhaps women will find this attractive?

GETTING LOST
I saw a poster in the Roman subway advertising a photography show. This seemed a good way to spend the afternoon, so I pulled out my Italian streetfinder (generously donated by Michela’s friend Analita) and figured out where it was. From there, it was a simple matter of finding the nearest metro stop and walking.

Or not.

What looks like a short hike on the map is actually quite a distance. Especially given the twists and turns of Roman streets. It only took a few minutes for me to get completely turned around. I wasn’t lost, exactly, as I could plainly see where I was on the map. But I’d ended up so far from where I wanted to be that finding the museum seemed impossible.

So I hopped on a bus that seemed to be going in the general direction I was after and then switched to the tram (streetcars that run on rails through the city). I was pleasantly surprised when I ended up in the right place. I walked along a few narrow, cobbled streets and found the museum.

Which, today and today only, is closed until 4 p.m. for renovations (or something, I can’t really read Italian).

This did not diminish the thrill of figuring out where to go in a foreign place. It’s this process of wandering, of slightly controlled confusion, that I find most exciting. It is, I think, the best way to explore a new place.

Tuesday, June 27

S.P.Q.R
Rome. I’m staying with Signora Lotti, her husband (presumably; he could just as easily be an itinerant lover) and their dog. They offer a room through a bed and breakfast website - Michela was keen enough to track them down and handle the necessary arrangements over the phone. It’s a beautiful room in a gorgeous building and costs half what a comparable hotel would run.

After dropping off my things, I stumbled my way to the Colosseum and the ancient Roman Forum. I expected to get a bit choked up at the history of it all, but found myself marveling at the hordes of tourists instead. They sat, listening to tour guides droning in various languages, on remnants of columns and decorative moldings. Kids complained of the heat, pale skinned Europeans slathered on the sunscreen and one American (stereotypically fat and fannypacked) loudly proclaimed a desire for a hot dog and a cold beer.

I realize that I’m a bit of a fancypants when it comes to cultural things. Further, I’m the first to admit that I’m entirely too quick to judge others while overlooking my own shortcomings. Still, I can’t understand how one can be surrounded by 2000 years of history without a certain reverance. Vespasian built this stadium! Ceasar walked here! Cicero spoke over there! Augustus put all this marble up! Claudius built that aqueduct! How cool is that?

Of course, as I’ve only just read all of this myself, I’m a bit biased. Perhaps a little overeager to demonstrate an introductory education too…

CONFLICT
I’ve noticed that a number of Roman ruins were rebranded with Papal inscriptions. Something about this makes me feel a bit icky, but I don’t really understand what to make of it as yet. A trip to the library (or perhaps an informative note from a reader) is definitely in order.

Far more jarring is the odd coexistance of ancient architecture and modern, high end shops. Gucci and Prada are nestled near the Parthenon and ongoing excavations. I have a hard time reconciling how this is possible. It doesn’t upset me, it’s simply difficult to parse. The ancient, medieval and modern are all mixed up here. It’s beautiful.

Monday, June 26

ALL ROADS TO ROME
I’ve spent a beautiful day in Padova with Michela. She and I have been crusing along cobbled streets by bicycle, the most common form of transportation for natives. She knows her city well and seems to enjoy sharing it with visitors. I feel the same way about Chicago (though I probably talk about it too much) so it’s nice to be on the receiving end.

But there’s been a slight change of plans; I’ve decided to visit Rome. I leave early tomorrow by Eurostar and will spend two days exploring the land of Ceasar, Augustus and emperors of similar ilk. Then to Venice and a return to Padova to visit a bit more with Michela and her friends.

In a few minutes we’re heading off to watch the Italians play in the World Cup. I’m hoping to see some authentic craziness, but as we’re visiting a fairly low-key establishment drinks and good conversation are more likely. Probably a lot better too.

Sunday, June 25

PADOVA
Italy is hot, humid and beautiful. Still, reality does not always align with the ideal. This is especially true when reason conflicts with matters of the heart.

LILLA RUNO
My grandfather bought an island off the Swedish coast (there are thousands of them) when the land was considered worthless. Now, the waters off the coast are quite valuable and attractive to tourists.

The island has been, in some fasion, a part of my family for nearly 70 years. By virtue of the timing of my birth and a few other factors I’ve never been able to visit. So, as I took my first steps onto the rocks and looked at the beautiful forest, I was struck with a profound sense of loss. I’ve missed so much.

But after a jump into freezing water (Swedes do this a lot, it seems), a visit with family, and catching my first Swedish pike (not the biggest ever, but one must start small) I feel like the island has become a part of my life. Though I only had a short visit over a single day, I’m certain there will be many more.

THE SAUNA
A dozen naked people crowded into a tiny sauna makes for an interesting experience. Especially when 11 of the occupants are calling for additional heat and steam for the pleasure of a visiting American. An American who found it extremely difficult to breathe, but tried hard not to let on.

The ritual is made easier for everyone by copious Akvavit, served cold and accompanied by song. I joined in by making vaguely Swedish sounding grunts. Huuba ooba UMP ooba tuuba VA!

From the sauna we ran naked through the streets and into the brackish (and entirely fucking cold) waters of the Baltic. I’m accustomed to seeing naked people in the street get arrested back in the states, but joined in enthusiastically. Intense heat and Akvavit are good for loosening clothes and uptight mindsets (though the latter is rarely a problem for me).

I returned home from my first Midsommar as the sun rose over Stockholm. It was an incredible experience. I’m grateful to my cousin Matias, Louisa (an extraordinary chef who’s going places), Axel, Marie and the rest of my new Swedish friends for making me feel so very welcome.

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